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There are little plants at the edge of a hedgerow bank that I think might be cow parsley.

At the moment though, they are nondescript.

They could be cow parsley. Or wild carrots. Or parsnips. Or sweet cicely.  Or caraway. Or angelica. Or perhaps ragged robin or red campion.

Or even something nasty like hemlock or giant hogweed.

So many things look the same at this time of year.

I think they are cow parsley, though, because I recall seeing it growing there in all its white umbelliflorous glory last summer.

Right now it isn’t glorious. It doesn’t have umbels. It is just a few curled, lacy leaves sheltering from the weather by the side of a hedge, next to a wall, among dried grasses, ivy and a thorny mass of brambles.

Soon, very soon, I will be able to tell if I am right. But until then, I will let it rest in its muddy bower.

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